“Mr. Hankes, Mr. Hankes, this is serious,” said Dunn, as he bent upon the affrighted man a look of heart-searching significance.
“I swear before Heaven—I take my most solemn oath—”
“Never mind swearing; how could they have been extricated? That is the question to be solved.”
Hankes examined the seals minutely; they were his own. He scrutinized the box on every side to see if any other mode of opening it existed; but there was none. He again went through the papers,—opening, shaking, sifting them, one by one; and then, with a low, faint sigh, he sank down upon a chair, the very image of misery and dismay. “Except it was the devil himself—”
“The devil has plenty of far more profitable work on hand, sir,” said Dunn, sternly; and then, in a calmer tone, added, “Is it perfectly certain that you ever saw the documents you allude to? and when?”
“Saw them? Why, I held them in my hands for several minutes. It was I myself replaced them in the box before sealing it.”
“And what interval of time occurred between your reading them and sealing them up?”
“A minute,—half a minute, perhaps; stay,” cried he, suddenly, “I remember now that I left the room to call the landlord. Miss Kellett remained behind.”
With a dreadful imprecation Dunn struck his forehead with his hand, and sank into his seat. “What cursed folly,” cried he, bitterly, “and what misfortune and ruin may it beget!”
“It was then that she took them,—that was the very moment,” muttered Hankes, as he followed on his own dreary thoughts.